**On a mobile format this book review is best viewed using landscape orientation. Danita Dodson is a contemplative, a mystic, and an alchemist whose feet are planted solidly in the turf of the natural world – particularly that of East Tennessee. As the poems in her debut collection, TrailingContinue Reading
Poor Boy’s Gospel My dad died before I could kill him. I always imagined reading back his sins like Saint Peter. I’d reprimand his absence, scorn the idle time he’d wasted, and end with the two kids he’d failed the most. But by then, the man dead to me hadContinue Reading
The George Scarbrough Poetry Contest is now closed. Thank you to everyone who submitted such outstanding poetry! We certainly have challenging decisions ahead. Winners will be announced on the evening of Thursday, December 9. Good Luck and Best Wishes! ** Featured image by Voltamax on PixabayContinue Reading
Appalachian writers breathe words. Like meditation. They might gaze out the window, past that liminal space, and describe simple raindrops, circular, solid, and sparkling atop thick green leaves after a summer shower, each one a separate little universe, a micro-microcosm disturbed, perhaps, by a lone redbird landing abruptly on aContinue Reading
Stroll (For Henry) The sidewalk, his nursery. The stroller, his crib. Together my grandson and I cruise the Low Country bejeweled in dew after last night’s downpour. Our gentle jostle over humpbacked pavement signals our arrival. We attract a following: first, a neighbor woman rushing across the street to catchContinue Reading
“Only one thing in my life has been constant: my interest in words. I should say “devotion” to words – for it has been a devotion, rarely known, I suspect, except among the more megalomaniacally linguistic lovers who have always come to people by way of words rather than theContinue Reading
Capturing a misty Blue Ridge morning, we scuttled uphill, down dale, taking up trails, traipsing through dew-covered fields, and slipped off, passing untamed hours of existence. We rested near calm lakes roused by walleye’s sporadic splash, or bluegill’s breath bubbles or striders atop the water or dew-dripped sprinkles pit-patting aContinue Reading
Their similarities were keen enough to define an archetype of the Appalachian writer at mid-20th century. Their differences were such as to make each a singular talent. Jesse Stuart, James Still, and George Scarbrough knew one another and admired each other’s work. All possessed shared experiences of growing up onContinue Reading
1. You and I lived nowhere by the river among the frogs, mushrooms, and flowers that flourished beside the sidewalks of our neighborhood. In the light of moon against the southern trees blowing in wind from the west, Your phone and my face glowed as we talked about what weContinue Reading
— From Death, Child, & Love: Poems 1980-2000 Last night while trimming our Christmas tree my son pointed out how I’d not written many poems lately to which I replied, “It’s true. But sometimes life is more prose than poetry. Do you understand?” A stupid question considering what he’d justContinue Reading